


all that's gold does not glitter (but all that glitters is not gold)

by thequacksonwrites



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Edward Elric Needs a Hug, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Minor Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:02:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28833120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequacksonwrites/pseuds/thequacksonwrites
Summary: The molten-gold rays of the sun broke through the window, landing on the boy’s face, illuminating it while the rest of the room remained shrouded in shadow.
Relationships: Alphonse Elric & Edward Elric, Edward Elric & Everyone, Izumi Curtis & Edward Elric
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	all that's gold does not glitter (but all that glitters is not gold)

The molten-gold rays of the sun broke through the window, landing on the boy’s face, illuminating it while the rest of the room remained shrouded in shadow. The boy opened his eyes and almost immediately screwed them shut; the ray of light was too glaring for his eyes, too accustomed to the dark. He sat up slowly, turning his face away from the window as he rubbed his eyes wearily before he blinked into the shadowy corners of his room. He sighed quietly, adjusting his seating position and propped his chin on his knees, which he drew nearer to his body to hug them tightly. He ran his fingers through the golden sheet of hair that flowed from his head, bright enough that it brought his attention to the reflection in the window, circling him like an angel’s halo. Beneath his bangs, which obscured parts of his face, golden amber eyes stared back at him, dead and lifeless, their vividity only enhanced by the dark semi-circles underneath his eyes. 

The boy’s name was Edward, or Ed, and he was staring grumpily at the faint reflection, scarcely taking in the busy street scene that happened below him.

Ed doesn’t feel as bright as his hair seems to shine, and his amber eyes were devoid of the fire that roared behind them, fueling his non-stop thoughts. Now they were a pale, watered-down version of gold, empty of any spark; they had been devoured by the darkness. His mouth settled into its default position, a grumpy scowl that tugged the corners of lips lower than necessary, only adding to the pure look of exhaustion that he wore. He tugged unhappily at the bangs in front of his face, eventually pulling out a few precious strands of the woven gold that draped across his shoulders. He made an irked, clipped sound, tossing the strands aside, not bothering to see where they landed, turning his attention back to the halo around his head, its shine too jarring for him to appreciate it.

Not like he felt deserving of it, anyway.

He gave a heavy exhale, looking down at his right arm. The silver digits gleamed keenly, and he flexed them experimentally, watching the patch of light travel across his hand as he moved them. He extended his right arm, almost absent-mindedly, his eyes trailing over the silver features of his steel arm, as if trying to find a difference in it after years of living with it, using his flesh arm, his left arm to trail over the place where steel met skin, the metal cool against his uncomfortably hot skin. He slowly stretched out his left leg as well, twisting it slightly, thoughtfully considering the metal limb before he rested his chin on his still upright knee, staring down at his metal palm.

Automail was known as the full-steel prosthetics, and Ed felt worthless compared to these state-of-the-art technology; these metal limbs cost him more than his life, not to mention his original surgery fee- he still hadn’t paid back the total amount to Winry. 

_Ed. Ead._ The first half of his name meant something he didn’t feel like- a fortune. Worth something valuable, something precious.

He mouthed the syllable silently again, hearing the name echo in his mind.

_Edward._

Except he whispered it out loud that time, mulling over the second syllable. 

_'Ward._ Or ' _weard'_ if you wanted to link it back to its origin- 'guardian', or 'protector' even; both are words he wouldn't apply to himself.

It's ironic, almost, how what with his sleek, polished steel limbs and his halo of golden hair and bright amber eyes, that he seemed perfectly fitting to be given names that meant 'fortune' and 'protector'.

But how can he be either when he couldn't keep his own brother safe?

He presses the cool metal palm to his eye, which closed against it, seeking comfort from the warmth behind his eyelids. The shadows claimed his weary body, sucking out the last orbs of sunshine in his mind, allowing his nightmare to take form in his mind, broken pieces of his thoughts joining back together to torture him once more.

He remembered the civil war in the east, where he and Al cowered under a desk in an abandoned building, Al worriedly clinging to Ed as the gunshots rang out as Ed kept his face impassive and tried not to flinch every time he heard bullets tear through the walls of their hideout. Izumi (god, Izumi, their saviour, their _mother_ , even, after Mom had died and everything went to hell-) was out, trying to fight or find more supplies, he didn't know. Ed wanted to go out there and run into the fray, to try pushing back the military forces with the same fear and that kind of weariness mixed with adrenaline that filled the air; the air that was now filled with smoke, with the smell of gunpowder and floating pieces of fabric and debris rolling on the ground. Everything was still, even amidst the fighting. Their land was a frozen picture; everywhere you looked there were ruins of what once were houses, the wood and splinters crushed by an unseen force or burnt to cinders, whose ashes flowed through their town- or what remained of it. If you were to step out onto the street, there would be a baby wailing at an inhumanly high pitch, a mother's frantic hushing. The sound of doors being kicked through, the bullets finding their mark with a sickening noise, barely perceptible but somehow louder than Ed's heartbeat which deafened everything else. And the march of the military boots… they were everywhere, running up and down or patrolling the streets or preparing for an ambush- there wasn't any escape, Ed had thought as he stared at his hand, intertwined with Al's, coated in grime and soot and dust, his favourite jacket now tattered, barely staying on his thin frame.

He had been panting quietly, or maybe not, he didn't quite remember that part. He remembered how Al hugged him from the side, though- how he still buried his face into the crook of Ed's arm like he was just four years old, and not an eleven year-old caught in a… in a war. 

He remembered how both he and Al had stiffened, staying stiller than usual that day- the day the stomping of the military was louder than ever, walking up and down their street, where Izumi had promised no harm would come to them. Where had she been when they had needed her? Ed hadn't known, and still didn't. All he knew was that on that day, military officers had broken in. They had dragged a crying, kicking Al and a defiantly struggling Ed from under their desk, their cries weak coming out of their hoarse and irritated throats. They had pointed their rifles at Al and Ed had just launched himself in their way, wrenching free with astounding force because _no,_ don't hurt Al, no no no-

A blinding white shock and then pure black.

Pure black- the kind of black where you _think_ you can see something in its corners but you can’t, really. The void was only penetrated by hazy visuals, dim recollections of Izumi getting him to a clinic, an illegal train ride, and back at their old home, Resembool, where he has a fever for a week straight, talking gibberish and holding back his screams as the limbs reconnected to his nerves. Delirious. Hallucinations or memories? He’s not certain.

But Ed definitely- _definitely_ \- remembered his first sane thought a week after his surgery, weak and uncomfortable as he was surrounded by needles, and valiantly tried to ignore them as he called for Izumi.

“Where’s Al?” he had asked immediately, and Izumi seemed to smile softly, although when had blinked, any trace of that expression replaced with her neutral one; although to most she just looked like she was about to kick somebody over a building. 

“Ed,” she had started, and then paused.

That was when Ed had a very, very bad feeling. Where all his nerves suddenly perked up, where he felt frozen, paralysed as if any movement from him would trigger disaster, where Ed gazed into Izumi’s eyes almost pleadingly.

Izumi _never_ hesitated. Never. Not once. This was not a woman who hesitated to do anything, yet alone speak her mind or dish out cold facts, brutal as they may seem. 

Ed lifted his right arm to try and brush his hair out of his eyes, or tried to since his arm (or the remaining stump) started to scream as the unexpected movement irritated his new arm, and impatiently used his left hand to move his hair away. Tension had wrapped Ed’s then fragile body, tightening its grip every second Izumi seemed silent.

… She had been avoiding his gaze.

“Please…” he had whispered, a numb, sinking feeling settling down comfortably in his stomach. “Not… not Al. Right? Right?”

Ed was deathly still, save for his repressed shaking, as Izumi sat down in the chair beside his bed, gently reaching over to clasp his hand. 

“I’m sorry.”  
  
Ed screamed, a raw primal scream that ripped his poor vocal chords, that started to fade into sobs, his body convulsing with them as his right arm and left leg shrieked in defiance, but the pain was _nothing_ , it _meant_ nothing, because Al was-

Was-

Ed jolted back to reality, the sun’s golden light filtering through the window. He used the metal hand to wipe away his tears- he didn’t need to know how cool they felt, how light they weighed underneath his burdens. He clenched his fist and gritted his teeth as his body was wrecked by sobs once more, his golden hair falling flat as it was dampened by his tears.

Outside his apartment walls, he was known as ‘Fullmetal’- the boy who gained metal limbs to protect his brother. _Protect_.

No, that was one thing Ed couldn’t do, apparently.   
  
And outside his apartment walls, he was commended for his bravery in that war, and how people didn’t mind the (excessive) praises to him because, somehow, he was worthy of it.

‘Worthy’. Hah, wasn’t that hilarious.

How could he be worthy when he couldn’t even save Al? How could he be deemed as a protector?

He rubbed his eyes again, screwing them shut to avoid seeing the droplets of water fall and sink into his bedsheets. What with his fearsome metal limbs that gleamed menacingly, and his fake bravado, why wouldn’t anyone think him as anything other than a great hero? Why would they have any reason to believe that Edward felt like he deserved to be buried below the pedestal everyone put him atop of, rather than enjoy his glory modestly? He may be a golden child, but Ed feels more like common dirt than a valuable, precious metal, he is nothing, nothing, _nothing._

He opened his eyes again, relighting the flame behind them, steadily burning stronger, his gold eyes finally lighting up brighter than his noticeable hair.

So he got up, got dressed and looked into the mirror. The tired, sobbing boy had disappeared completely, replaced by a confident golden-haired boy, whose braid swung behind him, as if to match his cockiness. His eyes were wide as the amber in it ignited with a newfound purpose. A hint of metal could be seen from underneath the collar of his shirt, so he shrugged on his red jacket, adjusting the hoodie before stuffing his hands into its pockets.

He looked sure of himself. Calm. Bored, almost, as if everyone else didn’t matter much to him (they didn’t), and merely a mild inconvenience. Edward Elric, ‘Fullmetal’, looked stunning in his bright red hoodie that somehow paired perfectly with the shining wonder of his hair and his eyes that had a certain quirk to it, as if a challenge burned behind its seemingly casual look.

Edward Elric gave his reflection one last parting glance before he turned on his heel and exited the apartment, leaving any trace of the vulnerable boy behind him.

Edward. ‘Fortune’. ‘Protector’.

He is neither, but no one needs to know that.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you guys liked it!! kudos, bookmarks and comments are appreciated :)
> 
> my tumblr is @silverquackson


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